Not Ready To Be Found
by alittlestateofgrace
Summary: Too late she realizes—maybe it wasn't Peter and the boys who were lost after all. A few chapters about the sadness that follows as we grow up, but the childishness and joy we still hold within.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters in this story. Following closely to the events of the actual book, I do make references to the book but do not make any sort of profit from it (apart from to vent out all the angst Peter Pan gives me). The prologue and epilogue is quoted from the book, thus the italics.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _Next year he did not come to her. She waited in a new frock because the old one simply would not meet; but he never came._

 _"Perhaps he is ill," Michael said._

 _"You know he is never ill."_

 _Michael came close to her and whispered, with a shiver, "Perhaps there is no such person, Wendy!" and then Wendy would have cried if Michael had not been crying._


	2. One

**1**

 **"Absence makes the heart grow fonder…or forgetful."**

* * *

She doesn't cry this year, although he doesn't arrive. She stands in her new frock motionlessly, fists clenched and staring at the stars.

"Come on, Peter," she whispers, "Remember!"

Promises are but careless things to him, like remembering names and practicalities. But she remembers what he's said. He has promised not to forget her. He has promised to take her back to Neverland, where she'll mother the boys again and walk side by side with magic.

But he has forgotten.

"Perhaps you don't know what day it is again," she clucks affectionately. "You never _do_ try to remember. Why, you couldn't recall Tink or Hook last time I asked!"

She scrutinizes the stars even closer at this, while they remain suspiciously silent. In the glistening moonlight, everyone else is fast asleep. They've given up on the possibility that Peter exists; that they'd once been his loyal lost boys. Even Nana doesn't show the slightest unease; that her charges could be taken away again.

She won't give in.

"Remember how you taught us to fly? Second to the right, and straight on till morning. I'd go myself, you know, but I'm afraid I might've forgotten how. I do so want to return, even though Michael's gone to bed—he thinks you aren't real! But he'll come to believe again later. It's much easier to believe when you're around."

She looks expectantly at the night now; sure he's beating his chest in pride. Or perhaps he's frowning in anger, offended at ever being forgotten. Surely he remembers now. Surely, _surely_ he will now be found.

A gust of wind blows into the nursery. She combs through her curls so she's prepared when he comes for her." I hear you, Peter!" Her face lights up. "Are you there?"

The gust dies down. Her eyes are brimmed with trust, but tinges now with something else.

She waits.


	3. Two

**2**

 **"I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be?"**

* * *

She doesn't cry the following year either, when Peter does arrive. "Spring-cleaning time!" he crows frowning when he has to knock to be let in. "Why is the window shut?"

Rubbing her tired eyes gently, the girl slowly registers his presence. Unlike the boys, she has tried for his sake not to grow up just that little longer. She has waited despite her doubt, watching the stars.

But something is different. It's in how she hasn't opened the window, for fear of a draft. It's in how she's grown taller, almost taller than him.

"Peter!" she cries, being as gay as she should. She's yearned for relief: for the knowledge that he is real, and hasn't forgotten her like she's feared. But that relief doesn't seem to come. For once, she feels almost awkward around her dear, dear friend.

"You didn't come for us last year."

"It's been a year?" He raises his eyebrows, an expression of genuine shock. He scratches his head, but then gives a mischievous smile. "You must have missed me, then!"

He doesn't ask for the boys, probably forgetting he's left some of his many in the Darling house. Neither does Wendy mention, because she knows they don't believe anymore.

Peter teaches her to fly all over again, to be gay and innocent and heartless. But she's still stuck to the bedroom carpet, even when Peter gives her all the pixie dust he's got.

She is filled with joy, yet something tugs at her conscience.

"I got a prize at school today. For general knowledge," she confesses. It earns a horrified look.

"Well I never!" He gasps in betrayal.

"I didn't choose to, you know," she explains, still unable to rise from her groundings. "I don't want to be sensible, I try not to be!"

Shakily, she rises off her feet.

"That is why you should stay with me," he sings, eyes glistening. "After spring-cleaning, don't come back. Play with the mermaids; explore the treasure coves! You should tell stories to the new boys too–quite a lot have arrived now, you know," he whispers excitedly. "Stay with me forever."

Her cheeks flush at the thought of it—to always live in the moment. Rejoice in simple, crazy things.

But then she shakes her head; just a little as she's led out the window.

"Oh," she sighs. "But forever is a very long time."

* * *

 **AN:** If you're wondering why I had to re-post the chapters, I realised I deleted the second chapter and had to re-post the subsequent chapters again.


	4. Three

**3**

 **"I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us."**

* * *

The last time she goes with Peter is the first time she realizes she's grown up. "Tell us a story," Peter cries one night, and she opens her mouth to speak. But the something different from before has crept in, even into the magic of Cinderella. She tells it with her posture straight and reciting voice at school. She minds grammar and accuracy, instead of fun. She doesn't find herself rushing wildly as she used to, re-enacting Cinderella running from her prince. She _cares_ for how well she tells it, instead of reveling in Cinderella's kindness and beauty.

One of the lost boys gives a yawn.

"Something's different, Wendy," Peter declares almost apologetically, and commences a campfire dance. And silently, Wendy knows too. Despite how she's tried, she's not as childish as she used to be anymore. She worries when the boys get too close to the fire. She feels an aching tiredness, when she has to repeat fairy tales at night; adventure in the day for newfangled notions. Do they not want to think before they get in trouble, or live with some common _sense?_

She doesn't cry when he takes her home that year. Or when he doesn't come back. Her mind has distracted itself with school and learning to sew, and she finds she doesn't mind that she's forgetting Neverland. She begins to bun her hair up; just like her mother, and beauty looms over her like a dagger waiting to strike.

She's fed up of always being lost—too young to be of worth and too wild to be petted.

Peter may not be ready to be found, but she is.


	5. Four

**4**

 **"Wendy was grown up. You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls."**

* * *

The years go by without bringing the careless boy, and Peter is no more to her than a little dust in the box in which she has kept her toys. Wendy is now grown and beautiful, with loving husband and daughter to match.

"How happy I am," she whispers periodically, looking down at her child. What more can she have wanted but to settle down?

She watches Jane mumble smilingly in her sleep, while something familiar, yet so far away, tugs at her heart. She can remember a time she was like her, impractical and carefree. It's been locked away since she's decided to grow up; to move on with life. And life, through hard work and her eagerness to fit in, has brought her exactly what she's wanted.

She wonders then, why the same relief she's yearned for years has never been granted. Why, on quiet nights like this she finds she's more lost than she's ever been. She settles by the nursery fire, and begins to darn while wincing at her thoughts.

Then, the window blows open as of old, and Peter drops to the floor. "Hallo, Wendy," he grins.

Wendy startles at the sound, and yet knows immediately who it is. He hasn't changed in the slightest, despite all the years he's left.

"So, where is John?" he asks, apparently remembering the boys now. She realises that in the shadow of the night, huddled by the fire, she almost looks like the child she used to be.

That something tugs at her again, threatening to pull her over.

"John is not here now," she gasps. And it takes him some time because of how focused he is on himself, but he realises.

He realises.

"You've grown," he sobs heartbrokenly, and she does not how to comfort him though she could have done it so easily once. "You promised you wouldn't!"

The grown woman puts her hands tightly around her chest, and defends herself through wet smiles. "I couldn't help myself, Peter. You didn't come, and I wanted to be found; to know what I was _searching for_ , for once!"

"Well, did you find it?" he cries. And she wishes she knew could answer, wishes she knew what she still hasn't found. But she doesn't. She was tired of being little, playing games of pretend forever and always. But only now does she realise that being lost had meant being free, and she is farther from happiness than she's ever been.

She runs out of the room, tears falling as rapidly as Peter's. "I need to think," she says.

Jane wakes carelessly to the sound of their hearts breaking, and cocks her head in interest.

"Boy, why are you crying?


	6. Five

**5**

" **Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."**

* * *

He comes one last time in a dream; long after Wendy's youth has left her. She hears him tiptoe to her side, staring down at her aged face. For even though Wendy has aged as gracefully as any woman can, the wrinkles and grey hair lay testament not even she can fight time.

"Wendy?" he frowns, waking her from fitful rest. He takes in as Wendy heaves to sit herself up, and keep her hands close to the covers in the spring cold.

She doesn't say a word as she stares into his green eyes, soaking him in and sharpening his hazy likeness in her mind.

"Peter," she finally smiles.

"It's spring-cleaning time!" Peter exclaims happily, crossing his legs at the end of the bed. "You should see how our home looks now; we thought it'd be great to decorate the place with mermaid treasure. We haven't told the mermaids yet though. They've been searching high and low and it's hilarious!" he confides. Wendy's smile grows wider as she imagines the pesky mermaids that tried to drown her. "What happens when they know?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Suppose they'll forgive me. They love me too much not to."

Silence falls into the room, as he thinks that he's probably quite like the mermaids. He's loved Wendy too much to be mad forever, even if his fickleness threatens to forget her at times.

"You came back," Wendy says softly. "I know I'm dreaming, but I never thought you'd come back."

"I did," he shrugs, playing at his lopsided shadow. The rapscallion thing looks like it's going to make a break for it, but the clumsy stitches she once made hold fast.

"I'm no longer young or beautiful."

"I know," he says, scrunching up his nose in a way that makes her want to laugh and cry.

"It took very long, you know, before I found what I was trying to find. Contentment is a sly little thing you don't see till you squint and stare." she sighs.

"I would've grown even if I'd known earlier. You'd beg to differ, but there are things in growing I'd never have missed, even if it meant having to say goodbye. My daughter, for example. My husband. Having a family. I miss being free with all my heart, but I've been thinking. And I have no regrets."

Peter's silence discomforts her. He normally won't go a minute without talking about his adventures or how great he is, but he appears to be staring at his mud-stained shoes. She tries to break it to him gently.

"Peter, I don't have long to live. I am going to die."

There is more silence as he continues looking down, taking in what he's already guessed. "I know," he says nonchalantly. He's still his beautiful, heartless self like she remembers, accepting things with no care or thought. "That's why I'm here."

For an odd, euphoric moment, she thinks that he'll take her to Neverland again. To play with lost boys, and watch panicking mermaids find their pearl mirrors. She's dreaming anyway, isn't she? He can take her back to the times she has pined for. But Peter doesn't whip out the fairy dust. And nor does she transform into the innocent, expectant girl she used to be, ribbon in shoulder-length curls.

But she doesn't regret. Her sorrow is swallowed back as she squints to find happiness again, and Peter struggles to explain why he's here. "Tell me a story," he finally asks, eyes shining bright.

"I shall," she whispers, and closes her eyes.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

 _The last thing he ever said to me was, "Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing."_


End file.
